I lost my passport.
I did not even intend to fly anywhere, but I'm a responsible girl, so I went to the Home Office to get a new passport.
But the Home Office did not so much want me to come.
It started with the spectacular appointment visit "my visit", an application that when it works, you still need seven attempts to make an appointment. To enter the application you have to enter a phone number and solve a quick sudoku, then you reach a dwarf in a cave , But still takes you to the next page, where you have to choose from a list of service providers. Among the options: Sakhnin Municipality, the Civil Aviation Authority and something called "Ziv Springs" Name something completely different.
Since I am not thirsty, not a resident of Sakhnin or a squadron, I applied to the Population and Immigration Authority.
In the end, as mentioned, I succeeded and made an appointment, which arrived at a good time this week.
I showed up at the government compound in Tel Aviv to stand in line, which had already started near the elevator.
It was a queue for a man standing next to a machine, giving you a number and sending you to stand in another queue for a man giving you a number.
I'm not laughing or exaggerating: I stood in line for an hour.
I was sorry I did not come in more comfortable shoes.
I corresponded with a friend, who suggested I write a new album at this time.
We agreed it would be a very boring album.
The only attraction was a guy, who kept trying to get around me without me noticing.
He failed, but I take my hat off to him for the determination.
After the long wait I came to the second man who gives numbers.
He was sitting behind glass and I did not hear a word of what he said, so we had a conversation based on what I thought he said.
I explained that I had come to get a new passport, and he took out the number I already had, but on a new note, and said, "Let me know you are a singer from ???"
Maybe he said I was a stunning singer, but it could also be that he said an annoying singer.
We really have no way of knowing.
Anyway, I got the exact same number and finally entered the lost temple, the hanging gardens of the Government Quarter: the Interior Ministry office.
On one side of the space are dozens of cells of poor workers who have not gone out for a lunch break since the omicron, and on the other side - men, women and children, who sat on the floor in despair and stared at the air, phones emptied of batteries or hanging screens that did not work.
Although Pesach has already passed, we are still shouting "Send my people" and the clerk is still shouting back "Sir!
It takes as much as it takes! 'A very modern Exodus from Egypt.
In the role of slaves: we.
In the role of the Egyptians: so are we.
It was getting dark outside.
Children fell asleep in the arms of their mothers.
One of the men lit a small fire to warm up from the air conditioner, when the speakers called 373 and it was my turn.
The clerk asked why I was no longer heard and took my fingerprints.
I paid NIS 560 for a passport that was supposed to arrive in a month and a half, with an Israel Post courier who would say he had it and knocked on the door, but no one was home.
This week, the good news was that another bureau will soon be set up in Bnei Brak, designed to issue temporary passports, if any of you are eager to stand in line, issue a passport that does not arrive on time for the flight and then do it again in two years.
Temporary passports will cost NIS 430, so this initiative is probably aimed at a very specific population of wealthy people who are not interested in flying abroad.
Oh well.
I'm not flying anywhere anyway.
No backbone in Greece and no shopping in Warsaw.
Two months ago I was supposed to fly to London, for my first vacation since eternity, but then came an offer for a show from now on for a lot of money, an amount I could not really refuse as long as I wanted to feed the kids, so I canceled the hotel and flight, unpacked my suitcase and took the babysitter .
The day before the show there was a terrorist attack and it was canceled, so I actually paid money to stay in the country.
But no problem, go with them, I'll stay here in our beautiful country.
Drive with you to stand in the traffic jams of the Uffizi Gallery and as a fruit smoothie in the pool.
According to the queues at the Ministry of the Interior, it seems that this summer Israel will become a real paradise - without traffic jams, without queues, without shouting (except for those of my children).
Drive in peace!
I'll be left here alone.
Just let someone turn off the light, pity the electricity.
Were we wrong?
Fixed!
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